Corrupted Roots
by Manus Father of the Abyss
Summary: Decimated. The light shines. A light different from the brilliance of his lord. A light of hope. He reaches for it, perhaps this hell will be forgotten.
1. 1 Aon- False light to a new life

**Been cooking this Idea for a while. I don't own Dark souls or Fate/Zero. Now I will be getting on to the grail war in Fate zero next chapter, just a little background first. Anyways, thanks for Reading :)**

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Connected like the twisted branches of a tree, the worlds do entwine. In a brutal war were an epic spirit may do battle with another hallowed tale of mythology or history, another hero, from another world can join a war to reach for a wish.

_The Third Grail War_

Days of studying the rules of the grail war had prepared him for the battles to commence. He held his hand against his chest but moved it to his side as the beating rhythm of his nervous demeanour unnerved him. He wondered, of the several classes of servant, which would be his? A lancer to match his tactility, Maybe an assassin to compliment his cunning or Possibly a berserker? The thoughts ran like a flowing river through his mind as the moment of summoning came. He prepared himself to begin the chant, steeling himself he undertook the pact that would accomplish his goal.

_Artorias_

His companion began to tire with him. He felt in desperate need of respite, or a way to escape but such thoughts betrayed his knight's honour. The wounds burned and the calamitous claw loomed menacingly overhead, like the sharp scythe of the reaper that awaited him.

No. The abyss would corrupt his body before death would conquer him. A fate worse than his demise. The abyssal axe of Manus was raised above the grotesque deformity that was once the first man and was brought down upon Knight Artorias with strength that would thwart even the strongest. The famed great shield that the knight proudly took into battle was mostly intact, save from corrosion from the abyss. Unlike the arm holding his armament of defence. The force from the blow knocked him back, causing him to fly through a pillar.

He lay in a mess. A wreck, his spirit beaten out by a being of unimaginable horror only to be filled with the terror it commanded. In his final moments, he threw what remained of his great shield to his comrade. The young pup howled in anguish but understood the command Sif fled, leaving Artorias with the Ferocious Father of the Abyss. In what artorias thought was his final moments, a light appeared before him. Manus made a strange noise as Artorias disappeared. He was glad to live but relief switched to concern as his current destination was completely unknown to him.

_The Third Grail War_

The very presence that exuded from the servant was enough to almost cause him to pass out. He stood in the centre of the summoning circle with a great azure blade that almost seem to encapsulate the moon within it's shine. The boy breathed heavily in in his moment of granduer, fell on to his backside. His words, formless. His attempts to get up, Hopless. In sheer awe of the man, no, divinity before him. An ancient tounge spoke ancient words to him. Wrapped in their melody of time, the gravity of the words did not strike him until he felt that behind the hooded helmet, a feirce glare bore down on him. "Art thou my master?" The voice sounded again, once more seizing him but this time he replied. His feeble voice sounded, and a small word escaped his dry lips. "Yes."

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**Whew done it yyyaaay. Reviews welcome, and once again, Thank you for reading.**


	2. 2 Dhà- Corrupted Blood

**Chapter two, not much I can say but more will be coming on the third war next chapter and perhaps a bit more on Artoias himself. Any ways, enjoy.**

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_4th holy grail w__ar._

Behind the fierce blade, a torrent of slashing there was skill. The weapon had been no-doubt been wielded by a great swordsman at some point, but all that stood before her was a raging hound. His screams, half exclamations of fury, half Tormented cries of anguish, carried through the wind, cutting at her like the large, corroded blade. He was easily twice her height, but he had bent over to reach her. Though even with his size, the blade seemed impossible, to say little of how it was swung. Unmatched skill, yet only using a single hand. Perhaps the limp, flailing limb played a role in the story of this hero. investigations would wait. Her mind should be in her bladework, not elsewhere.

Irisviel observed Saber's struggle against the typhoon of cuts. Poised and prepared, she awaited any sign of a wound on Saber to heal her, but neither advanced. As the giant knight was purely aggressive, Saber needed to fight defensively but no hole nor opportunity to attack reached her. The gathering of masters and servant stood watching, awaiting and analysing, conjuring plans to strike. Saber had previously been locked in combat with Lancer, but when the screams came, and the large, azure man, no, beast leapt at Saber, bearing down on her, the duel seized and survival took over. Berserkers were strong indeed, but not a trace of identity lingered about him. Nothing to identify him by. Simply a ravenous creature, one that must be put down quickly. Then the rain began.

Like angry droplets, the weapons flew from the sky. For such a large man, the berserker nimbly dodged them, with the agility of a cat. The hooded helm turned to face the new opponent. If luxury, gold and glory took form, he personified it. Archer stood, revelling in his own magnificence and the awe of his audience. Berserker. Something of their ilk rather peeved him, like a fly, darting within halls too grand for it too understand, yet too small for attention. Granting it his frustration would be a merit beyond anything the shrieking beast had ever received. He granted the thing with the pleasure of his voice. "Beast. Death would be mercy, a release for you, but you are below mankind, a filthy-" It had been the word "mankind" which set him off. He, no, it, for no human could move with not only such speed, but such rage, tore even more flesh from it's injury as it dashed forward. Expecting a the blade, archer raised a shield, but it did not defend, but cut, or so he thought, for when he looked, the shield was drenched in dark, oozing blood. The dark liquid bore throw the shield, corroding it. The majestic glimmer it held had been reduced to naught but a simple scrap. But what surprised Archer most, was berserker's next move. The blade was thrust in his chest, and a horrid heartbeat was felt from all. He pulled the blade out, now covered in dark blood, from his chest and left the gaping wound, no pain seemed to reach him. Berserk began his advance, when rider intervened.

Rider's intrusion did nothing but provide a momentary distraction for berserker, and rider saw, as the blade slipped into the ground with ease, like a knife through flesh, the volatile nature of his blood. Blood corrupted, by years of mingled hate and insanity.

"Kill" Berserker arrived, but his throne had been taken. And when their eyes rested upon the true Berserker, horror settled upon the azure armoured beast, a horror worn like a mantle, and realization cut as deep as the foul, corrupted blood.

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**And thus, end chapter two. Thank you for reading and chapter three shall be released soon :)**


	3. Trì- Art

**Thanks for all views, follows, favourites and reviews. I usually write at a pace that would embarrass a legless tortoise, but I'm writing more frequently. Chapter 3, here we go.**

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_Third Grail War_

A translation error? Perhaps he read it wrong. No, he would envision those dirty tomes were he to close his eyes he would envision the dusty and worn pages. His servant seemed to grasp no knowledge of the common world. Asking bizarre questions, at times when his servant was in his presence he would look upon school with reverence, for those moments of respite from his servant were greatly welcomed. The man had a sliver of memories, his name barely memorable. When asked he frowned, deep in thought, he would rummage his mind and misted memories for a name, and produce naught but three letters. "Art"

King Arthur? No, his armour and blade suggested otherwise. His weapon of choice was a large sword, one that seemed impossible to wield. With no battles having descended upon them, like a viscous hailstorm, he had yet to see his servants style of fighting. He sighed, but was cut short. His body collided with another, and sent him backwards. His thoughts had clouded his mind and he forgot where he was going. He finished his sigh internally, the war shadowed every part of his life, like a great lumbering beast. He tore himself from his trance to see who he had knocked over. A young man. He wore a simple green T-shirt and jeans. He had a head of ginger hair, blue eyes and skin as white as porcelain. He called out at the boy, speaking words in a language he knew too well. Catching a few words, he waited until the man finished. He cleared his throat, and replied: "In these parts, we speak English." The man snarled briefly. Under his breath, he muttered a few words. "Bought and sold." The younger boy's eyebrows rose. The man had walked off. Man? Servant.

Deep Breaths. Don't react. Don't rea-The book hurled through the air and caught the servant between the eyes. Then, he caught the end of the sentence his servant had asked. One word. Name. The boy sighed. "Fine. On the condition I refer to you as Art for short, and in public as Arthur." The servants mouth opened, and the boy flinched. More questions. "Very well, what shall I call my... Master?" The servant asked, the words more gradually forming a question. "Dra'eth. Dra'eth McDonald is my given name, but Neil will do." The servant nodded. "You have told me names of these parts, Dra-Neil, how is yours so different?" Behead him. Another question, just one more and his servants head would reach the floor. Actually, he thought against it. It would probably still ask questions.

"I was raised in the north, most of my life was spent among my clan, learning their ways, so don't fret". A smile reached Neil's lips "For I too, was once new to all this." The servant seemed to take no note at his comforting comment, and continue with the questions. "Clan?" He asked. More sighs. "Indeed, in modern times, they are uncommen but you may find some preserving old ways in the north. Mine, for example." the servant furrowed his brow. "What is the name of the land we are in?" Neil granted him another answer; "Scotland"

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**Yup, Scotland. Great place. Also, we have a character name. Hooray. I know it may be short, but larger chapters are coming. Once more, I thank you have a good day :)**


	4. Ceithir- Eyes of blood

**So thanks to all favourites and reviews :) I will reply within chapters, since I can't seem to reply to actual reviews :(**

**John- Cheers!**

**Bob- Thank you, but the recognition is second, I'd rather just let people read this, to give them something to look forward to and enjoy :)**

**Kratos Pendragon- First review yeeeah! :) Thank's man, I'm glad your enjoying it :)**

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_Fourth Grail War_

"I'm sure he will survive, Irisveil." Saber stood by the door. Kritsugu had ordered her to let no-one within his room, keeping it a fortress of strategy. Any notion or tactics had been thrown aside by the introduction of the mad warrior. The only explanation he could draw; a servant from a previous war, but no berserker had been noted. Interestingly, little had been noted about the previous war, save that it was close to becoming a public matter due to "calamitous events." Outside he could hear Irisveil arguing with Saber. He clutched his head, hoping to drown them out. Though their voices were a shadow of the true irritant. The squawking of the birds outside was beginning to become a task in itself to endure. Sighing, Kiritsugu went to shut the window, noticing that the noise belong to a single hawk. The avian animal spread it's wings and took to the skies, feathers following it. Odd. He'd never seen a bird with red eyes, nor a hawk with feathers of an obsidian colour.

With trained reflexes, the hand snapped out at speed that would break a normal mans arm. Argo landed upon his limb, fitting into it's usual claw marks upon his flesh. A smiled danced across his pale lips, a smile reaching from one crimson eye, to the other.

" I don't recall any such idea leaving lips of a single soul within this household" Saber pursed her lips and glared at rider. She thought of his attire as dumb, clothes of the commoner. Why would a king desire to cloth himself in such pointless apparel? "Oh come now, Saber. Even uninvited, we are guests, and anyways, I've brought wine." A smile that she had seen far too many times upon his face broke out again. If asked, she could draw the lines of his face when holding that silly expression. A war was no place for such pleasantries, none-the-less, she allowed them entry. The inexperienced young master would be easy to claw information on. She led them into the courtyard.

Even with his bestial instincts matching his companion, he could still recall the point behind his ears, single strokes soothing his mood. His companion howled, and his master held his hand to silence him. the wolf knew the pain that came from disobeying his companion's master. The master pulled his hood to cover his half-masked face. They leapt from the roof, the master's cape flowing like wings behind him, slowing his descent.

They should have took note of the howl sooner. The "berserker" had arrived, and with him new enemies. Aside the madman, there was a wolf, larger than normal. It's fur the colour of the darkness that coated it's master. Red eyes glanced over it's opponents. No, it's prey. The most interesting of the ambushers was the boy in front. A hood covered his face, but from her angle, Saber could see a face. He was young, with gaunt features. His skin, pale as the Arctic, almost glowed. A mask covered half of his features, but she noticed the Rouge retinas and the cruel smile spreading like a scar from each. His clothing was more black wraps and armour than any attempt at covering his body. His hooded cape trailed to his feet, the edges frayed and tattered from use. Black bandages covered his chest, though his left arm was bare, with deep cuts and wounds, fresh as the corpses left after battle. His right arm was more claw than arm, a sleek, black arm that ended in talons sharper than his glare. He wore breeches armoured with an obsidian plate metal. The boy glanced around, analyses and hate with equal parts amusement danced within those eyes. Finally, he spoke.

"I thank you." The simple words spread confusion like wildfire. His accent was rough, the accent of a northerner though it seemed more refined than most. they thought that that horrid smile, like a white gash upon his face, could reach no further. They were proven wrong. "By gathering here, you have saved me the trouble of hunting for you." He drew a sleek, black blade from a scabbard on his back. As the hiss of the blade ran through the air, the smile vanished "Though you have also stolen the thrill of the hunt from me. You will pay for this." Kiritsugu was the first to strike. The bullet was stopped. A hawk as black as a raven landed upon the boy's shoulder. The beast placed a bullet within his palm. Saber poised to strike but the Azure mad man struck first. The boy had robbed them of their attention, causing them to forget the berserker. The boy did not attempt to hide the mark of a master upon his left hand, but that was not what concerned Saber. The symbol upon the boy's Hand was familiar to her, as it was the mark Kiritsugu bore.


	5. Còig- Crossed Blades

**Sorry for delays, long chapters be a-coming. You'll be glad to know I actually have direction for this story and it's going somewhere. So thanks for your patience and reviews, they are both welcomed and appreciated :) **

**Also, Might consider writing another fic. Demon's souls+Painted man. Tell me what ya think :) **

**So without further delaying, Let's begin.**

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Like a sunrise, the signal of the attack dawned on him. The spear twirling was a signal to his charge. He poised himself for the attack. The spear tip, mere inches from his face was beat aside by his Greatshield. In panic, his opponent pirouetted and swept his spear horizontally, He parried the strike with ease and using the butt of his blade, smashed his opponent's chest. The spearman fell and he seized the opportunity. Artorias' blade hovered mere inches away from Ornstiens neck. "That's a hit Ornstien, Art wins 2-3." Ornstien heaved himself from the ground, ignorant to Artorias' outstretched hand. With a grunt, he left the garden. Anor Londo's sun hung in the sky, a permanent daylight, yet under the saintly sun, he felt no sweat upon him, even fully armoured. Ciaran sat upon the wall that lined the gorgeous garden, sharpening her blades. Taking the opportunity, Artorias plucked a flower from the garden, it's colour reflecting the moonlight of the darkroot garden and presented it before Ciaran. Smiling, she placed the flower of affection upon her lap, as her sweet smile vanished into a frown of concentration. Sighing, Artrorias said: "I see I will always come second to your weapons" Ciaran took no note of his comment, absorbed in her arsenal. Artorias' removed his helmet. The blazing sun shined in his silver hair, as though it caught a fragment of the glorious sun within it. His azure eyes turned to the sky, almost mirroring it. Suddenly, Ciaran reached forward. Even with his skill, Ciaran's assassin's reflexes were sharper than the blades she owned. The flower she granted her was placed within his hair, an eruption of giggles produced from Ciaran's lips. Artorias scowled playfully then turned back to face her. "Well, at least we both know who the pretty one is out of both of us" He laughed, a hearty sound that Ciaran loved. She took the flower and placed it within her own, golden hair. Artorias found himself lost within her emerald eyes, infatuated with their colour. As the reached for each other, a wall of grey fur soon interrupted their romance. Sif licked Artorias with vigour, the knight's efforts of escape seeming to prove futile as the sea of saliva drowning his face. He lifted the pup by the fur on his back, the licking continuing, and put him on the ground, allowing a joyous laugh to escape his mouth.

_Third Grail War- Neil_

Of all abilities that came naturally to a servant, Art's spirit form is most useful. No stares, no questions about the large, armoured man and no need to have him accompany to school whilst visible. We'd need to pull some sort of transfer student thing. Topically, the teacher introduced us to our new student. Beauty personified. From my thoughtful stupor, I glanced up, away from my miasma of tactics that swirled within my brain. Oh. OH. My one weakness: Pink hair. Said hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, her fringe reaching her yellow eyes. Her skin, pale as clouds on blue skies, and seemingly just as soft. He body boasted gorgeous curves, jealousy already rising from other girls within the homeroom. After introductions, she was told to sit where she liked. She strolled up to me, then around. She took the seat on the other side of my friend, Marc. They conversed naturally, earning many looks of curiosity. I sighed. Marc, you fool.

_Third Grail War- Marc_

I'm almost afraid to talk to anyone of the opposite gender. Caster seemed so up-in-arms about me conversing with girls, probably a jealousy issue. I remember the summoning, fresh as warm bread in my mind. The way she threw herself upon me, where I someone else, I could have taken advantage of it, but such a thing was against a gent's code of conduct, along with engagement in any romantic acts. She's simply my companion, I told myself, no matter how much she holds me, or kisses me, that is all she is. I wait outside the school,just at the gates. Neil asked Caster for a word outside, I knew exactly what for. He had this thing for pink hair on girls. I spy her approaching from the side of the building, an indignant look on her face. Neil followed with typical "Wait, I"'s. She poured a bottle of water over him. Funny, his ginger hair was already semi-long but when wet, it seemed to reach his shoulder blades. I had to stiffle a giggle as I saw his blue eyes peer from underneath his dripping hair. People began to laugh, and his face turned red. He left shortly afterwards. Caster hugged my arm all the way home. Thank god my folks are out, were they to see her at home...

_Third Grail War-Artorias._

My master returned home, his hair almost more of a mess than when he left, even after the liquids he'd washed into it in the morning. "Milord, were there any issues at your school?" I knew how he felt about my constant queries, but this world was confusing. I'd give my sword and shield to be back in the little comfort I knew in lordran. At least, away from Manus. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see him. I can hear him. I sense him. I don't sleep, in fear he will pursue me in my dreams. Instead, I watch over master whilst he sleeps, something he is dubious of. "Nothing, Art. I want to check the school tonight, you will join me." I realised my master expected a quarrel there. I nodded, and took my blade. As my master changed into attire he found more comfortable, he spoke. "We need to get you some clothes. as handy as it is, I feel bad forcing you to stay concealed all the time." I smirked, Ciaran had my try a wide variety of apparel at times, majority of which were accoutrements she told him were within current trend, but seemed impractical to him. "'Tis fine, Milord. My armour is all I require." My master sighed, as usual, a little habit he had. He walked through town, I shortly followed him in spirit form, to reach something he called a "Train station." Neil was surprised at my lack of knowledge of this world but promised to teach me. What I found most interesting was my lords predicament. The holy grail war, I thought to myself. A war in which heroes from the past compete over a wish. Perhaps I me return to Lordran with this wish. We reached the school soon after departing the train. My master wished to come back to his school to check for traps from other masters, but some other motive seemed to be on his mind. We arrived at a large hall, and stayed there for some time.

_Third Grail War- Marc_

"Oooh, please Goshujin-sama?" I told her to stop calling me that. I glared at her, and she soon picked up on it. "Fine, if you say it's a good idea, Caster" She perked up. She was dressed in her usually, revealing, attire. She had not told me her Identity, but from her clothes, I could tell she was Asian. The war seems out of reach, I barely grasp the concept of it, but I must adapt. I must kill other people, and come out alive. Caster demanded we visit the school, to look scout out any residual uses of magic and to perhaps lay a few traps to see if other masters reside in the school. We walked there, with Caster clinging to my arm as though the ground would collapse beneath her. When we arrived, Caster used some spell to disable the cameras. We searched every room, and soon arrived at the gym hall. "Master, On opponent awaits us here." Caster growled slightly, with her fox ears and tails out, I could tell she was anxious. We entered. I froze in place, my body shivered, I felt as though the ground was ice and trying to swallow me. His simple words seemed to drive icicles into my ears. "Sup, Marc." Standing there, was a boy with ginger hair and blue eyes. At first, alone, but a giant in armour stood beside him, a greatsword at his side. "Sup Marc." Neil said.


	6. Sia- Silence

**Firstly, let me apologise for my large delay in bringing out this chapter. On a side note, I've just finished re-reading the Kingkiller Chronicle and I must say, they are two VERY good books, and I eagerly anticipate the third. So without further adue, I present you the long awaited sixth chapter, I thank you for you're patience.**

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Third Grail War- Neil

The dawning realisation caused an expression of horror that danced upon Marcs face. I smiled at him, revelling in his shock and fear. His surprise almost seemed to resonate within the bright hall, yet the white walls assured me that little would leave here.

My eyes scan over the features of the gym hall, searching every crevice with my mind, studying it's advantages and disadvantages. The savvy warrior makes a blade from anything he places within his hands.

"Oh Marc, how you have failed in the war. Please note the word war." I applied a condescending manor to my tone, he soaked it in like a sponge. "Let's start with your first mistake, taking your servant to school and not giving them a fake name. Then you go to school and are still standing in front of me with a caster servant, against a Saber."

I cracked my fingers for added affect. Artorias drew his Greatsword from his back and held it out in front of him. I saw Marcs servant whisper to him. I could tell she was the experienced one. I'd heard of summons where the master had not summoned a servant or did not intend to. Like Marc, they were easy pickings.

"Please Neil, give up. I know you can give your command seals away, willingly. Please let go of your servant, I don't want to fight." I stood, dumbfounded. He may be my friend, but in war, the only friends one should have are those carrying the flag you rally under. "Marc, give up. Don't get in my way."

I hoped my voice was more adamant than I felt. The world spun around me and tactility fled. That's right, a war. Upon the battlefield there is no thought. Only killing

Marc went for first strike, he ran to me and swung a fist, narrowly missing me. I took the opportunity to riposte, but Marc stepped out of my blow, and I stumbled, granting him enough quarter to plant his fist within my chest, I felt blood rise to my mouth, it's foul taste a bitter-sweet reminder of the situation.

To the side, I could see caster and Artorias battling, Caster threw charms and pillars of fire and ice followed, but Artorias stood fast, each attack missing through a net of dodging.

I turned my attention to Marc, as he pushed me to the ground. He needn't say anything, for a short second before he rained blows upon me was enough to him for me to reconsider. I endured the beating, waiting to strike.

I was conscious of the small bread knife I'd hidden within my pocket, yet I refused to grasp it. My limbs refused to move out of both paralysing pain and fear. I lay on the ground, a bloody mess before my opponent.

_"No. Not yet." I was consumed, a foul darkness set upon me, clutching me to it's horrific form. I lay within the void, silence approaching, soon the noise and suggestions the horror around me produced would give way to peace, but they only increased in volume, my ears near bleeding as shouting turned to screaming. I lunged for the voices, lunging out in the darkness, hoping to grasp at- and then what? End it here. No. Pursue the screams, silence them. SILENCE._

Third Grail War- Artorias.

As trained as I was, the horrifying scream drew me from battle, my master had thrown his attacker off him, yet it seemed unnatural for such a boy to throw someone of equal weight for such a distance.

The "Marc" boy caught the attention of his servant and in the few moments of distraction, I plunged my blade within her mirror, shattering it. The sound brought a heavy silence to the hall. Using this time, my master produced a knife a rushed to his former friend.

I turned away, but the screams were overpowering. My master would awake from his rage and realise what he had done, but for now, I stood silent a stone, awaiting my masters call.

The servant named "Caster" fell to her knees, as the silence was peerced by her despairing sobs.

Third Grail War-Caster

The tears seemed endless, I hoped with all my being that they would dry soon. I belonged to that monster now. The boy approached me with his bloody blade.

.IDIOT. You could have saved him, your master! It was your duty! You failed hims! You usel-

The extended hand surprised me, and so did his smile. The malice of the smile he treated his friend fled his face, and upon him a new smile shone. They was genuine kindness in his lips and his eyes.

I accepted his hand and he pulled me to my feet. I stood, crying, a hopeless wreck. He used his shirt to dry my tears. I turned towards him, and he pulled me into a loving embrace.

I felt his tears warm my shoulder. Each droplet slowly reminding me not just who I lost, but who he lost. I pulled her arms up under his arms. I realised I had began to speak soothing words to him, but our moment was soon ended by the arrival of riders master, his servant following.

"Forcing yourself onto an enemy, whore?" At the insult, Neil spun round to face him, his hand gripping mine. I saw something in his face, an expression akin to sharp glass, clear,but not without an edge.

"Master of Rider, I see you've arrived." Neil seemed to have left his tears as soon Riders master had interrupted. Riders master was dressed in a suit, with oily black hair and a goatee. His accent indicated he was foreign, as did his sunbaked skin, from the land of Spain I guessed.

His servant formed behind him. He was tall, with a head of messy brown curls. His face was pale, deathly so, and he wore a high-collared black cape over black leather armour. He rode a magnificent black stallion that seemed as though hell itself had produced a steed. At his side, a blade was sheathed. The pommel had the head of a snake and included Intricately carved scales.

As Rider went to draw his sword, Archer shot an arrow against the blade, the ringing resonated around the hall. A man dressed in a green tunic walked towards us. He had a green hooded cape that covered his features and a quiver full of arrows on his back. A wooden bow was clenched in his hands tightly.

He did not confront Rider. Instead, he turned and glared at Neil, I could make out blue eyes from underneath his hood. "I'd expect better from one of the _cinneadh_." The last word was unknown to me, but held a bitter poison, as sharp as the arrows he carried.

Rider loosened the grip on his sword and instead, pulled an axe from his other side, a terrible, rusted thing that had been the last sight of many.

Rider's master glared at Archer, his brow furrowed and hatred burned in his hazelnut eyes. Once more, that devious smile cracked on Neils face. He lead me out the hall and Saber followed. Rider attempted to block our way but Saber stood at Head height with Rider, even upon his horse. Even with a hood over his helmet, I could sense that he was glaring.

"Step aside, Rider." I was surprised at his voice, expecting a gruff voice of sandpaper, not the sweet sound that echoed from his mouth.

Rider stood fast. The horses whinnying signalled the charge.

Third Grail War...

Knight's training filled his form, and the dodge came naturally. The horse and it's rider charged past, but recuperated shortly after the attack. neil stood by Artorias side, holding his sword up. "Art?" Has called out to his servant. "My ears stand as attentive as my blade, Milord" He laughed. "How's your grip?"

Riders second charge came with haste, yet something was odd. The master backed off behind his servant, though he lacked cowardice within his face. The charge was intended to be halted by the Saber's large blade, yet his horse leapt over it. That's when the body collided with him.

Neil leapt of Artorias' shoulders and upon the blade, tackling rider. In combat, there are two kinds of tackles. An experienced warrior will leave the scrap with minimum damage and the receiver in a worse condition. The other variety of tackle left the giver and receiver both in a heap of agony. Neil found himself on the unfortunate side of this balance, as rider fell atop him.

Neil reached forward and pulled Rider's sword from it's sheath. He held it in front of him, mirroring Artorias' stance and awaited his opponents strike. As the Axe came down upon his head, Neil smiled. His stature changed, he thrust his left hand behind his back and turned the sword up to meet with the axe, pushing his fingers upward as the metal met.

Riders axe flew behind him and Neil took the chance to strike, missing his opponents chest and striking the arm. As his hand fell, Rider made no noise, save for a haunting noise of tearing flesh, a red line growing across his neck.

Riders master gasped and soon, both disappeared. Neil fell to his knees, and let victory and sorrow fill him with equal parts. Artorais gripped his masters shoulder, offering words of encouragement but they had the effect of a summers breeze upon his tear flooded cheek.

Third Grail War-Caster.

Neil had thrown himself from his sorrowful stupor to grab me, to take me with him, tears of resignation welling in my eyes. I wondered of what duties he'd have of me, but he simply took my hand and lead me to my new abode.

Neil took me on the train and lead me back to his house. It was large, and had many devices within it. In comparison to Marcs house, it was a mansion. I asked him about it.

He took me to his room. My first reaction was the mess. Jotters, clothes, books. There was less floor and more junk. At least it didn't smell. He sat me down on a couch and took his place beside me. Artorias shut the door after us and stood outside.

His hands were still clasped on mine. He hadn't let go the whole way back

"Caster, I'm sorry about what happened to your master. He was a good frie-"

"But not good enough to stop you from cutting him down!?" I screamed at him, he recoiled and I saw tears well in his eyes. At least he regrets what he done. I held him again, and he spoke between sobs.

"I Couldn't let you stay with him, he'd take advantage of you eventually, besides, you seek a husband? Why complain when one presents themselves"

My heart seized. He looked up at me, smiling, the tears slowly falling, flowing like a river of sorrow. I took his face in my hands, and kissed him.

Fourth Grail War- At the church

"Master, our brother was killed. We know not who by, but someone has taken his life. We can only see what he saw."

Kirei nodded at the assassins demise. He cared little. "tell me, what did he see?"

"The mad warrior arrived, with several companions. A powerful young boy, a black hawk and a black wolf. After that, a flash of gold ends his life."

Perhaps tokiomi does not wish for an alliance,if his servant would slay my own. Kirei found it odd that Gilgamesh and had not made any signal to attack his assassin, but the flash of gold indicated it must have been him. Perhaps he was simply killed in the crossfire.

Or perhaps another servant was present at the gathering. No, he knew where every servant lay. Perhaps they had some relation to that mad beast?

Artorias

He had travelled here often, yet each time, Darkroot garden still continued to supply him with it's sublime view. He walked amongst the foliage, the undergrowth flushed with life as his foot stood by the denizens of the ground, insects scattered to reach safety leaving little behind. It was then that he first beheld that beautiful sound. A howl pierced the dense quiet of the forest, but it was more than a simple wolfs howl. Each howl, a note in a sombre tune that Artorias felt resonate within him. His walking pace gave way to a run as he searched for the source. It was then he came upon a large, grey pup, its forlorn tune echoing within the grove it stood. Artorias approached, and no sooner did the howling stop. The wolf was behind him with speed that was double of anything the knight had ever witnessed. As the wolf landed, his back felt significantly lighter, or clasped in the jaws of the beast was his greatsword, and he found a smile creeping across his lips.


End file.
